


Double Jeopardy

by elyndys



Category: The Libertines
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-11
Updated: 2020-06-11
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:14:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24660634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elyndys/pseuds/elyndys
Summary: Carl, for reasons best known to himself, will only allow himself to have sex with Peter when he gets a sign from the universe, or certain and often unfathomable conditions are met. Peter tries endlessly to persuade him to break his own rules, for both their sakes.
Relationships: Carl Barat/Pete Doherty
Comments: 6
Kudos: 47





	Double Jeopardy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Missoneminute](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Missoneminute/gifts).



This might be the best day of Peter's still-short life. When he woke up this morning - or lunchtime, or whenever it was - on the dingy mattress he shares with Carl, he thought it would just be another regular day, of hanging around the flat with Carl, maybe going for a mooch in the park with Carl, then seeing if he could swipe some booze from Tesco to share with Carl for the evening. He had no inkling that the main thing he'd be doing with Carl today, would be kissing. 

It's not that they've never kissed before, but those kisses were daring, aggressive, playing-chicken kisses, or showy, sloppy kisses at parties to make the girls whoop. Not real kisses, however Peter tried to make them feel that way in his memories and dreams. But then, today, the stars must have aligned or something, because they were just sitting on their beaten up sofa, like they always do, just joking around and making each other laugh - and then, somehow, there had been a lull, and their eyes had met, and neither of them had looked away, and Carl had suddenly looked serious, and focussed, and Peter's heart leapt as he realised this was it, this was the moment, and they'd leaned towards each other until their lips met, soft, and sweet, and gentle.

That was many, many minutes ago now, though, and their kisses aren't gentle anymore. Carl's mouth on his feels hot and urgent and demanding, and Peter just wants more, more kisses, more contact, wants more than anything to give himself completely to Carl. His arms are around Carl, holding him close, and Carl's hands are in his hair, confident and possessive, and Peter is already so turned on he feels like he might explode. He can't believe this is happening, that he's finally got Carl here, in his arms, kissing him like there's no tomorrow. After all those months of longing, and wanting, and trying hopelessly to control events below his waist whenever Carl walks around the flat in just his underwear. 

Any control he might have had over that region of his body is well and truly lost now, at any rate. Peter doesn't remember ever being this hard in his life, and he feels like they can't go back, they can't de-escalate this now, surely the only way they can go is… more. 

Carefully, tentatively, he brings his right hand down, and places it high on Carl's thigh. Making his intentions known. Carl doesn't flinch, just carries right on exploring Peter's mouth with his tongue, so Peter, encouraged, slides his hand slowly up, up, until he can place it, as smoothly as he can, on Carl's crotch. 

Peter feels a deep and genuine thrill to realise that Carl is just as hard as he is, and the little sound of surprised arousal he makes when Peter makes contact is something Peter will treasure for the rest of his days (and, especially, nights). He starts to move his hand, rubbing Carl's erection through his trousers timidly, just to gauge his reaction. 

Carl barely reacts at all, except to redouble his efforts to snog Peter's face off, and Peter is deliriously happy, and even more desperately aroused. After a few minutes of massaging Carl with increasing boldness, hoping that maybe he might take the initiative and repay the favour, Peter just can't hold on any longer. 

Just as carefully as he did before, he moves his left hand from where it's pressed tight to Carl's back, and lifts it up to take Carl's own hand from where it's holding Peter firmly in place as they continue to kiss. Trembling, and with his heart racing, he brings Carl's hand down directly onto his own crotch, unable to stifle his gasp of relief at the touch of Carl's warm palm through his clothes. His hips lift reflexively, pressing himself up against Carl's hand, still held in place by his own - but, abruptly, Carl freezes, their kiss broken, and suddenly he's staring into Carl's wide, startled eyes.

He pulls his hand roughly back from between Peter's own, looking down and around himself wildly as if he's just woken up from a nightmare. 

"I'm sorry," he mumbles, scrambling up and away from Peter. "I can't- I just- It's-"

He doesn't finish any of those thoughts, just disappears out the door of their room, and Peter hears him clatter out onto the street. 

He wants to cry. He's frustrated, heartbroken, and confused. He has no idea what went wrong. One minute they were happily heading for a very happy ending, the next he's been abandoned. Dumped before they even got going.

He can't understand why Carl was suddenly so upset, and he has no idea what to expect when he comes back. Will he sneak in sometime when Peter is out, collect his things and disappear, for Peter never to see him again? That thought is too unbearable to even countenance. He doesn't even mind if Carl comes back and just acts normal, pretends nothing at all happened between them, that they never kissed, that Peter never copped that tantalising feel - he doesn't mind if all he's left with is his memories of those exquisite moments, as long as Carl comes back, and soon. 

Peter is so torn up inside he can't even summon the necessary spirit to have a wank, he's just too distressed. Eventually, after at least three hours of solid moping, he drags himself to the mattress - the one he woke up on this morning with Carl by his side - and tries to sleep.

He doesn't actually fall asleep, though, just lies there continuing the moping he'd been working so hard on all evening. But it's probably just as well he stays awake, because at some time just after midnight, he hears the outside door bang, swiftly followed by the door to the flat, and in stumbles Carl.

He comes straight over to the mattress, clumsily getting onto it and taking Peter's face in his hands, just like he had earlier today.

"I'm sorry about earlier Peter," he mumbles, though now it's clearly drunken mumbling, not the panic mumbling like when he raced from the room earlier. "I'm sorry. Forgive me? Please?" 

Peter doesn't even have time to respond, before Carl swiftly resumes exactly where they left off all those hours earlier. He's shocked, but most of all he's too relieved and happy to ask questions. Those can definitely wait, he thinks, as Carl dives in with gusto this time. Peter is dizzyingly aroused again in no time at all, and when Carl undoes his belt and fly Peter needs no second invitation, he's not going to let this chance slip through his grasp this time. So grasp he does, and Carl moans most delightfully as Peter starts to stroke him, properly this time, his hand wrapped firmly around Carl's hard cock and fully focussed on making Carl feel so good he'll never want to run off from him ever again.

They kiss even more passionately than they had this afternoon, messy and frantic, and Peter moves his hand on Carl as fast as he thinks appropriate now - he daredn't waste any time figuring it out, they’re building up steam now, he can't risk Carl taking flight this time. But his quick, half-rough touch seems to be exactly what Carl wants and needs, because he's thrusting his hips eagerly into Peter's hand, panting and making soft, excited sounds as Peter brings him closer. Peter feels proud - and even more aroused - to be doing a good job, to be giving Carl this much pleasure, and he pays attention to every sound, to every reaction that Carl makes to what Peter is doing to him. Peter just wants to enjoy the feeling of Carl's cock, hot and hard in his hand, wants to engrave it in his memory for every time he wanks himself off with the same hand in future. He feels like, after this experience, no matter what comes next, his life will be irrevocably changed somehow. Being this intimate with Carl is all he's fantasised about for months, and getting to fulfill even a small portion of those fantasies is blowing his mind. 

"Oh, fuck," moans Carl, and Peter can only think that's a good sign. He feels Carl get even harder in his hand, bucking more erratically against him, and when Carl comes, hot and slick all over his hand, he feels a sense of deep accomplishment, like he's fulfilled a very important purpose in his life. 

But it doesn't take long for his own body to remind him that he's still very, very aroused, and suddenly he's overwhelmed by desire so intense he shakes. 

"Carl," he whimpers against Carl's lips, still resting close to his. "Please, Carl, please... touch me." He holds his breath, not having any idea whether Carl will, or whether he'll leap from the mattress and dash from the room again without even stopping to zip himself up. Or whether he'll fall straight into a drunken post-orgasmic sleep, though at least if he did that, Peter could be sure he probably wouldn't wake up as he got himself off beside - or, more likely, over - Carl's prone form.

Peter is washed over by a tidal wave of relief (and more arousal) when Carl does neither of those things, but reaches out his hand and, rather fumblingly but still effectively, slides it into Peter's boxers and around his cock. 

Peter moans, much louder than Carl did, helpless as Carl starts to stroke him, quick and surprisingly confidently, considering both how drunk he is and how terrified he seemed at this prospect mere hours earlier. It's more than enough to finish Peter off, and it barely takes a couple of minutes before poor, fragile, overstimulated Peter comes, so hard his head swims and he hears ringing in his ears, all over Carl's delicate hand.

"That was easy," he hears Carl mumble, and he would be embarrassed, but he can't possibly be, not when he's finally got off with the person he fancies more than anyone in the world, the object of all his desires - how could he feel anything but pure, unadulterated satisfaction, at what they've just shared? 

He's aware that Carl has, now, fallen into a deep sleep next to him, his hand still sticky with Peter's come, just like Peter's own is with Carl's. He's not going to get up and go all the way down the hall to wash his hands, not now when he could be snuggled up to Carl's gorgeous body. And besides, he wants to hang onto the reminder for as long as he can. Maybe Carl will wake up in the morning and not remember (or claim not to remember) anything - but Peter will have the proof.

He's not really sure how that will go, exactly, but he's not going to waste time right now worrying about it. He's going to enjoy the moment, bask in the delightful glow, the wonderful feeling of lightness and fulfillment, and just a trace of smugness, as he makes sure to put his arms around Carl so he can hold him as they sleep. Whatever tomorrow brings, tonight, Peter has everything he wants.

He's relieved - though not surprised - when he wakes up before Carl the next morning. He's shifted a bit as he slept, but Peter rearranges himself so he's spooned up close to Carl again. He has no idea what kind of mood Carl will be in when he wakes up - will he be hungover and grumpy, or terrified and confused, or will he just act like nothing happened? Whatever his reaction, Peter is going to get in as much cuddling time as he can before he has to deal with it. Of course he's woken up with a hard on - how could he not, under the circumstances? He's torturing himself rather, by nestling so close to Carl, but Peter has always rather enjoyed pushing his luck, so he just lies there, trying not to rub himself too shamelessly against Carl's peachy behind, but also not making any effort to put any distance between himself and it. 

Peter doesn't know how long it is before Carl wakes up, but the waiting has done nothing at all to cool his ardour. Eventually Carl stirs in his arms wakefully, and Peter's heart jumps and races, wondering exactly what his - their - fate will be. 

Carl hasn't immediately tensed, or bolted, so Peter feels encouraged. He knows there's no way Carl can't feel his erection, even though he's still wearing his jeans - they're still unfastened too, and he's so tempted to just slide his hand in there, find out if Carl is responding to Peter's body just like he is to Carl's… but before he dares try it, Carl takes said hand, just like Peter did to him yesterday, and directs it into his open jeans. 

Peter tries not to lose it there and then, when he feels that Carl is also hard, and is letting Peter touch him again. Last night he must've done a decent enough job that Carl is happy to give him another go, and that thought by itself is dangerously exciting. He tries to do exactly the same as last night - it's not difficult for him to remember, it's seared into his brain, the feeling of Carl in his hand, everything Peter did that made him whimper and moan. He feels more confident now too, more able to take a bit more time, draw it out a little, make sure Carl really, really enjoys it. 

The problem is, Peter is really rather enjoying it too, pressed so close to Carl, hips automatically moving, rubbing himself against him helplessly. He can feel Carl getting close, and he realises he is too, and it's too late to stop himself, he can't hold back - he's never been any good at denying himself any kind of available pleasure, and suddenly, inevitably, he's coming in his boxers against the exquisite warmth and pressure of Carl's body. It's far from the most dignified way to get off, but it still feels so fucking good, he just couldn't help it - being this close to Carl just seems to reduce him to a lustful, greedy mess. He moans Carl's name in a strangled sort of voice, pressing his face into his hair and kissing his neck in gratitude, to Carl and to the universe for letting him have this, again. 

The rhythm of his hand on Carl's cock has stuttered and faltered, and Carl's hand finds his again urgently, wrapping around it and guiding him back to the pace he wants, and if Peter hadn't just come he would be right now, because that is _hot. "Yes Carl,"_ he thinks, " _Show me exactly how you like it._ " 

Carl does, keeping his hand over Peter's larger one and thrusting into it as they stroke him together. Carl moans in relief and Peter kisses his neck again, runs his tongue up to his earlobe, sucks a mark onto his skin at the join of his shoulder, and then Carl is shuddering against him, crying out breathlessly as he spills over Peter's fingers and his own. 

They both lie there, quiet and unmoving, getting their breath back, for several blissful minutes. Peter doesn’t care that his underwear is getting cold and sticky and will probably be very unpleasant to remove - Carl still feels warm and comfortable in his arms, and Peter doesn’t want to disturb him, in the same way you’re obliged not to move when a beloved pet chooses your lap to sleep on. He almost thinks Carl really has gone back to sleep, but then he shifts and stretches a bit.

“Make us a cup of tea, will ya,” he mumbles, and Peter recognises that maybe now the hangover is starting to kick in.

“Sure thing,” murmurs Peter, and he can’t resist giving Carl an affectionate squeeze and a kiss on the cheek before he gets up. 

He is sticky and uncomfortable in places, but that can’t detract even the slightest bit from the spring in his step, and the gladness in his heart. He sings to himself - quietly, because he doesn’t want to compound any suffering Carl might be going through - as the kettle boils, and can’t wipe the big soppy grin off his face as he carefully puts Carl’s mug down at his side of the mattress, and equally carefully gets back on it with his own. 

Carl still doesn’t say much, but he drinks his tea gratefully, and Peter is happy to just sit peacefully beside him. He doesn’t want to be the one to shatter the harmony by fucking up and saying something stupid, and probably the best thing he can do for Carl right now is be quiet, so he just enjoys the domesticity of having a nice cup of tea in bed with his… new lover. Yeah, fuck it, he’s going to let himself think of it that way, going to let himself feel as smug and proud as he always imagined he would, in the not inconsiderable time he’s spent daydreaming about this scenario. 

Carl seems somewhat revived by the tea Peter so lovingly made, and they wash and dress and go about their day, the kind of day Peter expected them to have yesterday. They take a guitar to the park and busk for a while, then go and spend the money they’ve earned in the dingiest pub they can find, telling tall tales loudly to the regulars until they’ve emptied the place. It’s their favourite kind of day, messing about and making a nuisance of themselves and laughing over everything together. Completely normal. 

Which is good. Better than it could be, anyway. Better than Carl having done a runner in the night. But at no point does either of them say a word about last night, or this morning, or get any closer than a matey arm around the shoulders or an affectionate hair ruffle. Peter doesn’t really mind - after all, on any given day they’re more demonstrative than the usual stiffs their age - but the further into the day they get, the more Peter wonders exactly what the deal is. If he knew exactly what it was that made Carl run away yesterday afternoon, only to come on so strong in the evening, maybe he could figure out exactly how he should proceed, and what to expect. Because he can’t help feeling more and more preoccupied with what happened between them, and whether it has the same significance to Carl as it does to him. 

But he just can’t bring himself to ask, not in words. They’ve had such a lovely day together, the kind of day that just reinforces what he feels for Carl, and how much he values their time together, and he doesn't want to sour it by forcing Carl to discuss it. Instead, he thinks, maybe actions will speak louder than words. That tactic certainly seemed to work this morning, so Peter just waits, not very patiently, until it's time for bed.

As soon as the lights are out and they're under the covers together, Peter makes his move. Just like this morning, he curls himself around Carl, wrapping an arm around his waist and beginning to gently, but with clear intent, press kisses to his neck. 

Carl lets him for a few minutes, but when Peter puts his hand on Carl's stomach, under his vest, and starts to slide it down towards his crotch, Carl suddenly takes a deep breath, and turns over to face him. 

"What are you doing?" he asks, though the answer is obvious.

"I- I thought-" Peter stutters, his heart simultaneously in his mouth and rapidly sinking. "After last night, I thought you might want to… do it again," he explains meekly. 

Carl looks at him incredulously. "We already did it once for this week," he says, like he's explaining something to an idiot.

Peter frowns, confused in several ways about what Carl has just said. "What do you mean? And anyway, what about this morning? That's twice!"

Carl rolls his eyes. "That's just double jeopardy," he says, as if Peter should know exactly what that means. When Peter shows no sign of understanding, Carl sighs. "The morning after is fine, that doesn't count. But then, that's it. For the week," he says again. 

All Peter can do is stare at him, still trying to figure out what the hell Carl is talking about.

"Look," says Carl, sounding a little impatient. "It's the same with any _arrangement_ like this, you have to have some ground rules, don't you? Make sure no one gets the wrong idea?"

Peter is deflating rapidly. "And what's the wrong idea exactly?" he asks, already knowing the answer.

"Well, I mean, it's not like we're going steady or something is it?" Carl says, with a kind of chuckle, as if the very idea is completely preposterous. "We need to keep things casual. So we have to get things straight right from the start, don't we?"

Peter notes a certain irony in that, but he nods slowly, starting to see exactly what kind of 'arrangement' Carl has in mind. 

Carl looks at him a little more kindly now, maybe sensing that this isn't quite going the way Peter might've hoped. "Hey, it's for both our sakes," he says, reaching up and ruffling Peter's hair comfortingly. "I mean, we don't want people to think we're _together_ , or we'll never get any girls, will we? I don't have any intention of giving up shagging other people, and I'm sure you don't either, right?" 

"No, course not," Peter says faintly, wondering exactly how convincing he can possibly sound.

Carl smiles. It's obviously good enough for him. "Right, so there's no point pretending otherwise and then ending up in all kinds of awkward situations and lying and hiding stuff from each other," he explains. "It's better if we just agree the rules now."

Peter rather feels that Carl has agreed some rules all by himself, but, for once in his life, he isn't going to argue. Not right now, anyway. He thinks quickly over everything Carl has said so far. "So… Once a week?"

"Except for double jeopardy," Carl makes sure to reiterate. Then something seems to occur to him. "Wait - what day is it today?"

"Monday," Peter says, after a moment's consideration. 

Carl's eyes light up, and suddenly Peter is being kissed so enthusiastically it takes his breath away. 

He pulls back after a moment, startled and even more confused. "What-" he starts, but Carl is looking at him with a sly twinkle in his eye that sends a hot shiver of anticipation through him. 

"The old week finishes on a Sunday," Carl says, smirking. "Monday is the first day of the new week."

Peter has only a split second to register what the significance of that is, before he's being kissed senseless again, and this time he doesn't protest. He still has many questions about this whole situation, but it's hard to remember what they are when Carl has his hand in his pants again, with no hesitance at all this time. All the confusion and misgivings don't take anything away from how good it feels when Carl grips him with a skilled hand, and he's so attracted to Carl that he can't help how quickly he's getting carried away. It’s just so easy to give in to the pleasure of Carl touching him, and the satisfaction of making Carl feel good too, of making him gasp and swear and come all over Peter's hand and belly, before Peter comes this time too. 

He must be doing alright at this, he thinks, or Carl wouldn't have wanted to come to any ' _arrangement_ ' with him, with his silly 'double jeopardy' and his Sunday night rollover, like it's a national lottery jackpot. That thought makes him chuckle to himself. The more he thinks about it, the more he reckons he can work on Carl's little foibles. After all, Peter knows he can be pretty persuasive, and now he has another tool, another skill to hone, he can work on Carl's funny little rules. After all, aren't they made to be broken? No one believes that as wholeheartedly as Peter, he's sure of that.

It seems that double jeopardy counts the day after the rollover night as well, to Peter's delight. He wakes up on Tuesday morning with Carl tucked up behind him, this time, and there follows a deliciously hot and sticky reversal of what they did the previous day. Never mind double jeopardy, Peter's delirious, orgasm-befuddled mind thinks, he wouldn't mind if this was more of a Groundhog Day type of thing - keep trying, until they get it all perfect. Though it's already not far off, he thinks, as he tries to make his limbs remember they're not made of jelly.

Peter just can't wait for the new week to roll around - he and Carl spend a lot of time together anyway these days, but on Monday Peter is glued to Carl's side, unable to keep his mind from wandering to the possibilities of what might be to come tonight. Every time he looks at Carl he imagines him, flushed and sheened with sweat from Peter’s attentive caresses, shuddering and trembling and begging him for more. Several times he has to ask Carl to repeat himself when he's speaking, because Peter hasn’t been listening to a word, just watching Carl’s lips as he talks. 

And Carl fucking knows it too, by the way he smirks, like he can read Peter’s mind and likes what he sees. Carl’s not above playing up to it either, biting his lip like he’s ‘thinking’, _coincidentally_ choosing to drink through a straw when he's never done that before in all the time Peter's known him. He lounges over Peter when they’re sitting on the sofa, with first his feet in his lap, then gradually finds reasons to get closer until he’s squarely sitting in it, acting all casual like he can't tell Peter is slowly dying underneath him, growing more and more torturously aroused.

When Carl finally deigns to kiss him, Peter groans with relief, and Carl, the bastard, dares to laugh. 

"You're loving this aren't you," Peter grinds out, even as they're taking each other's clothes off as fast as they can, on their way to the mattress.

"Almost as much as you are," murmurs Carl, palming Peter's cock over his underwear, and then quickly inside it too.

This time they're both completely naked together in their makeshift bed, and to Peter, it feels so much more intimate, even if they are fumbling and clumsy in their eagerness to touch and to feel and to please. Peter comes quicker than he'd like, again, but how could he not, when Carl has been winding him up, wriggling in his lap all evening? As soon as Carl took him in his hand and started stroking him for real, he knew he was a lost cause.

Peter isn't shy though, he doesn't want to hold back from trying new things, if they'll make Carl feel good. He wants to impress him, wants to surprise him with just how much pleasure he can give him. He pushes Carl onto his back on the mattress and swiftly moves down his body, so Carl can't have any doubt about his intention. He wets his lips as he meets Carl's gaze, and the heat he can see in Carl's expression is almost enough to get him hard again straight away. He takes Carl's cock in his hand, and gives it a long, experimental lick. 

Carl moans softly, his hips lifting off the bed, and Peter is encouraged. He's never done this before, but right now, at this moment, there's nothing he wants more than to take Carl in his mouth. So he does, just the head at first, getting used to the taste and the feeling, but the sounds Carl makes at just that much make it easy for him to go further, to take in as much as he can. Carl puts both his hands in Peter's hair, not even gently, and that's even more satisfying to Peter, that Carl is already so caught up in what Peter is doing to him. He's obviously been just as turned on as Peter has, for just as long, and Peter can tell now just how much he needs to come. He concentrates on what he's doing, thinks of all the things that he knows feel good - wonders if he dares sneak a hand between Carl's legs to touch him there too, but he thinks that he'd better take things one step at a time. Besides, he can feel that Carl is getting close, and he's still trying to figure out exactly what to do about that when it's too late, and Carl starts to come in his mouth. Peter coughs reflexively at the unfamiliar sensation, but mostly he's thrilled, proud that he could successfully get Carl off in another new way, and that Carl seemed to enjoy it so thoroughly. 

He crawls back up Carl's trembling body, cuddling up beside him and putting a hand on his heaving chest.

"Was that alright?" he murmurs, trying and failing to not sound too smug. 

It's a few moments before Carl can answer, which just makes Peter feel smugger. 

"Yeah," he says eventually, and Peter can hear the grin in his voice. "It was alright."

Peter beams to himself. He usually sleeps less than Carl anyway, but he only sleeps a few hours that night, waking up before it's even light outside. He can't possibly go back to sleep, not when all he can think about is... double jeopardy. He's already starting to get hard just thinking about it, waiting for Carl to wake up and feeling the warmth of his body, still entirely naked, and close enough to touch without even trying. 

Peter isn't a very patient person, but he knows Carl can be a nightmare if he's woken before he's ready, so he lies as still as he can and only touches Carl's smooth skin with the lightest of fingertips. Eventually he wakes, naturally, and Peter is right there to capitalise.

"Morning," he murmurs, going straight in for a kiss, while Carl is still sleepy and amenable. He wriggles closer to Carl so he can feel exactly how much Peter has been looking forward to his awakening. 

He can feel Carl smile into the kiss - it's clearly flattering to him to have Peter lusting after him so madly, especially if that means Peter is willing to do anything to please. Which he is.

"Would you... do what you did last night again?" Carl asks, with a shyness that's so completely endearing, Peter couldn't say no, even if he'd ever had the faintest intention of doing. 

On the contrary, he's delighted to oblige, and extremely turned on that Carl wants him to suck his cock again, because that means it was good, and Peter did well. He feels less uncertain this time, able to steadily take more of Carl into his mouth, relishing the sounds of enjoyment Carl makes under Peter's loving ministrations. He strokes with his hand what he can't fit into his mouth, and Carl starts to get louder, starts to thrust up into Peter's mouth, just shallowly, like he doesn't want to frighten inexperienced Peter, but Peter is quick and eager to learn, he just wants to make Carl feel good, wants to figure out how to make him feel better than anyone else can. Carl's breathing hard, his fingers in Peter's hair, and when he moans Peter's name, Peter can't stop himself moaning too, Carl's cock still in his mouth, it's all just so unspeakably arousing. Peter wants to reach down and touch himself, he's so achingly hard, but he knows it'll be worth it to wait, it feels so incredible when Carl touches him. 

He lets Carl thrust a bit harder into his mouth, tries to adjust to it quickly, keen to do anything he can for Carl. His jaw is starting to ache, so he pulls back a bit, sucks and kisses at the head of Carl's cock with soft lips, gratified at the way Carl seems to melt under him, whimpering and hips lifting, chasing the feeling of Peter's mouth. 

Peter lets himself smile for a moment, then forces it away so he can go back down on Carl's cock, take more of it in again. Carl is moving more urgently now, panting and clutching at Peter, and Peter strokes him faster with his hand, thrilled with the feeling of Carl taking over all of his senses. He's ready for it this time when Carl comes, and he swallows easily, proud of himself, before his mind turns towards his reward. 

He crawls back up Carl's body, his cock hard and heavy between them, and when he lies down beside him he realises again just how badly he needs to come. He wouldn't even need Carl's hand, he'd happily just rub himself off again against Carl's arse or stomach or hip… 

He kisses at Carl's neck, whining and unable to stop his hips from moving against Carl's body already. He hears Carl chuckle softly, then he turns so he can reach Peter more easily, wrapping his hand around Peter's cock indulgently and starting to stroke. 

"Oh god," Peter groans. "Faster, Carl, please!"

Carl obliges, and Peter comes almost instantly, jerking into Carl's hand and against his body. Every time Carl touches him it's better than the last - he supposes they're both getting better at it, or maybe getting a taste of sex with Carl has just made Peter even crazier about him, and every touch just makes his desire more insatiable. 

Which makes it more and more difficult to wait a whole week every time before he can have Carl again. Some evenings one or both of them goes to work, which passes the time he supposes, but Peter spends increasing amounts of time daydreaming about being with Carl, and being naked with Carl, and how he can make what he’s been doing better every time, to make the prospect of sex with Peter an even more enticing prospect. He stands in WH Smiths reading girls’ magazines for tips on How to totally blow his mind! until the staff come over and tell him “This isn’t a library” on so many occasions he thinks he’s going to get banned from the shop. 

Waiting is torture. He has to sleep in the same bed as Carl, see Carl get undressed, see Carl in the shower - OK, he doesn't _have_ to see Carl in the shower, but Peter's only human, and there's no lock on the bathroom door, how can he possibly be expected to resist? He spends so much time around Carl, often in states of undress, that he's starting to get hard at the drop of a hat. Any time Carl puts an arm round him or sits close to him for any length of time, any time Carl stretches and shows off the lovely curves of his back and arse - Peter can't help it, his cock has a mind of its own and he can't stop its response to Carl's irresistible magnetism. By the time every Monday rolls around he's a pent up, drooling maniac, like a character from a 70s sex comedy. It's become Pavlovian, he reflects, that on Mondays he just goes around with a semi all day, just waiting for Carl to let him loose at the ordained time. 

He knows Carl is loving it too, he's certain of that. They've got used to each other over the weeks, got to know how the other likes it, what to do and how to touch and how to make each other come so hard they see stars. He knows for sure that they lie next to each other on the mattress some nights, both hard and both (probably) wanting to do something about it, but no matter how hard Peter stares at him in the hazy streetlight that filters through their newspaper-covered windows, Carl resolutely pretends to be asleep, unless it's Monday. Or Tuesday morning. 

Peter has to admit, he'd expected Carl to break by now, to give in and just say "fuck it" to his own rules, and let Peter get him off any day of the week. But Carl is obviously more committed to his principles than Peter gave him credit for. The prickteasing bastard. 

"Come on Carl," Peter pleads one Thursday evening, when he just can't take the tension any longer. "You know how I feel about you, and I know you feel the same about me. Can't we just do it whenever we feel like it?" Which is all day every day, in Peter's current state, he thinks but doesn't say.

Carl looks torn, pained even. "We can't," he mumbles. "We should keep things casual," he says weakly.

Peter rolls his eyes. "In case you haven't noticed, I haven't been shagging anyone else lately, and so far as I can tell, neither have you," he says, immediately wondering if he's pushed too far with that last remark. "What would be the harm?"

Carl does stiffen slightly, and not in the way Peter would've wished for. "It just wouldn't be a good idea," he says, a little bit more decisively, but not much. He gets up from the sofa, where Peter has been sitting probably much too close. "Let's… let's just go get pissed," he suggests instead, already putting on his jacket, and Peter can't really complain too much at that idea.

Hours later, they're weaving their way home, and Peter is feeling a little cheered. They've had a fun night, and at least he's been distracted from thinking of all the unimaginably filthy things he wants to do with Carl most of the time. And maybe tomorrow he'll be too hungover to think about them as well, with any luck. He's not counting on it, though.

Carl is staring up at the sky as they approach the flat. "Nice crescent moon tonight," he observes. "New moon. New month. New cycle."

"You sound like you're realising you're not pregnant," Peter says, sniggering as he pushes the door open.

Carl lowers his gaze from the heavens and looks back at Peter meaningfully. "New start," he says pointedly, following Peter inside. "Beginning a new period… of time," he tries, more clunkily.

Peter is drunk, and his mind is fuzzy, but he thinks he's starting to get it. He moves closer to Carl, feeling a certain familiar spark in his belly when Carl doesn't move away. "You mean like the start of a new week?" he asks, wanting to make sure he understands.

"Exactly," says Carl, with a certain sense of relief evident in his voice, then without any further preamble he leans up and kisses Peter hotly. 

Peter kisses back hungrily, not wanting to give Carl even the slightest opportunity to change his mind. They fumble with each other's clothes as they stumble towards the mattress in the mostly-darkness of their room, leaving a trail of shoes and socks and shirts across the floor, though that doesn't make much of a difference to usual. 

Peter practically throws himself onto their bed, naked and raring to go. He tugs at Carl's wrist till he joins him, urging Peter onto his back and holding himself over him.

"I wanna try-" Carl mumbles, before he shuffles backwards down Peter's body, like he wants to dive right in before he loses his nerve. 

Peter's heart leaps as Carl wraps a hand round his cock, steadying it as he takes a breath, then lowers his mouth to cover the head.

"Oh, Jesus Christ!" Peter moans, fighting the automatic urge to move, to thrust into Carl's soft, wet, beautiful mouth. He holds himself perfectly still, not wanting to do anything to scare or embarrass or surprise Carl, just wanting to keep him where he is and let him take it at his own pace. Peter already feels like this is enough to make him come, it's so unexpected and so overwhelming, and just so fucking hot to think of _his cock in Carl's mouth_. He whimpers as he looks down and watches Carl slowly slide more of him inside, twisting his fingers up in the messy sheet underneath him. He feels weak with arousal, unable to take his eyes off what Carl is doing to him, just letting the feeling wash over him, in increasing waves. It feels too good and he doesn't want it to end, but he knows it's going to, and it won't take long.

"Carl," he manages, his voice cracking. "Carl, I'm close -" As much as he would love to just carry on and come in Carl's sweet mouth, he thinks doing that without even any warning would be the most certain way to ensure this would never happen again.

To his aching disappointment, Carl does take his mouth away, but he doesn't remove his hand from where it's still tight around Peter's cock, and when he starts to stroke, fast and just the way Peter wants it, he arches off the bed with a cut off cry, it feels so very deeply satisfying. He comes all over himself and Carl's hand, thinking about the exquisite feeling of Carl's mouth and tongue on him, and already hoping he gets to experience that again. 

Carl crawls back up the bed, looking very proud of himself. Of course, he would, but Peter can hardly blame him.

"How was that?" Carl asks, obviously feeling pretty smug.

"It was amazing," breathes Peter sincerely. It occurs to him that if he's extra effusive in his praise, Carl will feel more encouraged to do it again in future.

Carl beams at him, lying back on the bed beside him expectantly. Peter gathers his scattered wits and slides down Carl's body, reaching out a now-experienced hand and giving Carl's cock a smooth stroke. 

Carl sighs happily, and Peter goes down willingly, taking Carl easily into his mouth. He likes doing it, likes having such intimate knowledge of Carl's body and how he acts and reacts when Peter does the things he likes. Carl has got past the point of being reserved when Peter goes down on him now, he'll put his hands in his hair and thrust his hips more urgently as he gets close, and that's fine with Peter, he's got used to it, enjoys feeling like Carl is comfortable enough to do what he wants with him. 

Perhaps Carl is buoyed by his own achievement, or maybe it's because of how much he drank earlier, but he's extra enthusiastic tonight, and more vocal than usual, to Peter's delight. It's like he's not holding anything back, and Peter is happy to go with it, letting Carl set a quick pace. Peter likes to think that Carl got so carried away with his first taste of Peter's cock, that he's so turned on by getting Peter off that way that he's lost control of himself, and is more eager for this than ever. It certainly doesn't take him long to come, and Peter swallows it all, with his usual feeling, that he probably shouldn't enjoy it as much as he does, but he doesn't really care. 

He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, and moves back up the bed to lie next to Carl. They both turn onto their sides to face each other, grinning like idiots, two very giddy and satisfied idiots. That was a beautiful mid-week bonus, Peter thinks - again put in mind of the national lottery draw - and immediately he starts to wonder if double jeopardy applies even outside of the officially approved schedule.

To Peter's delight, it turns out it does. Carl is obviously still proud of his adventurousness the previous night, because he seems very happy to give it another go, taking Peter's cock into his mouth with increased confidence and enthusiasm. Peter still can't quite believe this isn't a very wet dream, though even his subconscious was too timid to let him ever have a dream as good as like this. He eagerly returns the favour as well, delighted and grateful that Carl seems to finally have seen sense and talked himself out of his once a week, double jeopardy, lottery rollover eccentricities.

He doesn't want to get too greedy and push Carl though, and although it taxes his patience to its limits, he makes it through to the next Monday without pouncing on Carl every time they go to bed. He gets through the weekend making big, moony eyes at Carl, whether he's looking or not, because he just can't help himself. And Carl, well, he knows Carl likes being looked at that way, from the way he tries not to smile when he catches Peter's eye. And every time he does, Peter's stomach does an excited little flip. There's a frisson constantly between them, and Peter is enjoying the giddiness of every moment.

He thinks he's been extraordinarily restrained by the time Monday arrives, and he looks forward to claiming his reward. He's waiting in bed before Carl comes to join him, and he's unashamedly already more than half hard just thinking about what he's going to do to him. So as soon as Carl gets under the covers beside him, he puts his arms around him, presses close and goes in for a kiss.

"No, Peter, no," says Carl firmly, like he's telling off a naughty puppy. 

"What do you mean, no?" asks Peter. "It's Monday!" Maybe Carl has just forgotten what day it is. 

"Yeah, but now the week has moved," Carl says.

"'The week has moved'? What the fuck does that mean?!" Peter exclaims, unable to conceal his exasperation.

"We did it on Thursday, now we have to wait till the next Thursday," Carl explains, seemingly without any hint of embarrassment or even acknowledgement of the ridiculousness of what he's saying. 

"Oh come on Carl!" Peter almost yells. "I want to suck your cock. I know you want me to suck your cock. Why can't I just suck your cock?" 

Carl looks agonised, and Peter knows with a certain satisfaction that he's warring with his own obvious desire for what Peter is offering. He's silent for several long moments. "I suppose… it is the first day of Gemini," he mumbles.

"Yes!" Peter agrees readily. He has no fucking idea what the date is, or what date Gemini even begins if he's honest, but he's not going to dispute it. "Yeah, whole new… sign. And that means it's your birthday soon too! I'll get you something nice," he promises, already sliding under the sheet.

Carl is completely hard in just a few licks, much to Peter's vindication, and he tries his best to make sure that Carl can have absolutely no second thoughts about breaking his own stupid rules again. By the time Peter is done with him, he thinks, Carl will be begging Peter to forget anything he ever said about once a week, because he won't be able to get enough of Peter's eager mouth.

Double jeopardy can stay, though. That one always seems to work in Peter's favour. 

Carl doesn't quite beg, but the way he moans as Peter sucks him is fucking delightful, like he's grateful to Peter not only for letting him fuck his mouth, but also for knowing that this is what he wanted all along, and for reassuring him that Peter is always - always - more than happy to do it. 

As Peter pointed out, it's now only a couple of double jeopardies until Carl's birthday. He's sure that double jeopardy must count for birthdays, too - in fact, he's hoping for more like triple or even quadruple jeopardy, because Peter has had plenty of time to prepare for this occasion, and he's got more than a few tricks up his sleeve. Carl’s birthday doesn’t fall on a Thursday this year, but surely special occasions like that must be exempt from the usual rules? Peter is confident that even Carl wouldn’t be stubborn enough to pass up a birthday blowjob when it’s being so freely offered. 

There's one more thing Peter wants to offer him for his birthday, something he's been thinking about for ages now, but he's always been nervous about suggesting. Peter would really, really like to go all the way with Carl, but with all his little... _quirks_ about the sex they already have, he has no idea what his reaction will be. But surely his birthday would be the ideal occasion to allow himself something he (and Peter, too) would definitely enjoy, as long as he can just get over himself. Peter bolsters himself with persuasive arguments he can use if Carl seems hesitant ( _“I know you’ve done it with girls before, you told me!”_ ), and by the time the sixth of June rolls around, he’s talked himself into feeling like he’s got as good a chance as ever. 

He wants to wake Carl up on his birthday in the nicest way he can think of, but the last time he tried that it obviously wasn't the right phase of the moon, and he just got a knee in the ribs for his trouble, so he doesn't dare try it again. So, as usual, Peter waits for Carl to wake up, before immediately slipping under the covers to give him his first present. Carl is very receptive, obviously agreeing with Peter that his birthday is absolutely an appropriate occasion to break his own rules. In fact, the way he pushes himself into Peter’s willing mouth, and the pleasured sounds he makes, makes Peter rather suspect Carl had been expecting this all along, and that he might even feel like this is exactly how he deserves to be treated on his birthday. Peter indulges him thoroughly, letting Carl direct him in whatever way he likes, and Carl definitely makes the most of it, taking his time and making it last. Peter doesn’t mind, even if his jaw does go numb, because it shows just how much Carl enjoys Peter’s mouth and what he does with it. When Carl comes this time, Peter thinks it seems particularly deeply felt, and when he crawls back up to lie next to Carl, he nuzzles up to Peter approvingly, pleased and sated, then falls back asleep for an hour and a half while Peter tries to lie as still as he can so as not to make him move away. 

When Carl wakes up again, Peter presents him with his second gift - the only one he's actually spent money on, in the form of a full size bottle of Jamesons, which Carl seems almost as pleased with as the orgasm Peter has already given him, he notes wryly. At least it might get Peter in his good books and make Carl less strict and stingy in his affection, he thinks - especially when he starts drinking it, which of course he immediately does, even though it's just after midday. To be fair he has the first swig mixed into his tea, which counts as breakfast and/or lunch for them anyway. 

By the end of the day, Carl has drunk enough of the bottle that he's happily kissing Peter entirely of his own initiation, with nary a mention of astrology or the days of the week - the birthday excuse must be enough justification for him, and Peter eagerly and enthusiastically clings to it, and to Carl as things begin to heat up between them. Carl is giggly and playful, bossily wrestling Peter out of his clothes and carelessly stripping off his own, and Peter feels dizzy with a lot more than the whisky he's drunk. 

"Carl," he blurts out, weakened by lust at the expanse of warm golden flesh presented to him in full, and Carl's lithe body now pressed up against him in bed. This is the moment, he thinks, the right time to make his move, when Carl is happily drunk and clearly very intent on having some naked fun with Peter. What better time to ride the momentum?

"Carl," he says again, between hot, intoxicating kisses. "D'you want to - y'know - fuck? I mean, properly," he stumbles, his articulacy defeated in the face of the sheer enormity of how much he wants Carl, and the momentousness of what he's suggesting. "I really want you to fuck me," he says, more emphatically so Carl can't misunderstand, feeling his face get hot and his heart beat even harder.

To Peter's shock and delight, Carl doesn't hesitate for even a second. "Yeah, let's do it, yeah!" he says, laughing gleefully and kissing Peter with even more breathtaking enthusiasm. 

Peter is completely taken aback - he'd been so prepared to have to persuade and cajole Carl that he can't possibly believe it could be so easy. But even just hearing Carl agree so readily sends a jolt of heat shooting right through him. He certainly isn't going to let the moment slip through his fingers, or give Carl any chance to change his mind.

Not daring to say a word in case he derails this precious momentum, Peter rolls onto his back, pulling Carl on top of him and spreading his legs so Carl can settle between them. He immediately and instinctively feels like he wants to wrap his legs around Carl’s waist, so he does, feeling a deep thrill at the weight of Carl's body on his own, and his cock right against him, so close and so tantalising. In optimistic anticipation of this eventuality, Peter has acquired some KY that he's had concealed under the mattress for a short while now, and when he fishes it out for Carl to see, the smouldering smirk Carl gives him nearly causes him to spontaneously combust, from both mortification and arousal, but probably mostly arousal, if he's honest. 

Peter can't believe Carl has agreed to this, and the fact that he's so into it makes Peter so hard he can't think about anything else except how furiously he wants him, like he's never wanted anything else in his life. Carl seems to be finding it all to be a tremendously exciting adventure, giving Peter deep, breathtaking kisses that never end, just winding him up and up until he's panting, throbbing, desperate for Carl to _fuck_ him. 

Unable to contain himself any longer, Peter takes it upon himself to reach between them and stroke the lube over Carl's cock, wanting to touch him, to feel him, and the way Carl moans when Peter rubs him just makes Peter feel even more overcome with desire. He wonders if he should feel nervous about this, about doing something so new and so unknown to him - but he can't find any room for nerves, he's just so ready for it, he's aching so much to make this ultimate connection with Carl, after wanting it for so long, and after all the things they've done together so far. This just feels like a natural progression, and one Peter feels more than prepared for, he's thought about it so often. He only briefly thinks that he should've obtained some poppers as well for this, because he's heard they make things easier, and even if they didn't, well, he would've had poppers. But he doesn't really care too much, not with Carl between his legs and ready and _oh_ , starting to push inside him. 

Carl does it nice and slowly, with surprising care - he's obviously thinking about Peter and his comfort and pleasure, even after all the whisky he’s consumed, and Peter is moved by that almost as much as he is by the ultimate intimacy of this moment. Carl moans as he gets deeper inside him, and it makes Peter shiver with the satisfaction of knowing Carl likes how it feels, that Peter was right to suggest it.

It’s a novel sensation, having Carl moving inside him, but Peter is never one to shy away from new experiences. It feels right, it feels _complete_ , and the longer it goes on, the better it feels. Peter has done his research (standing in WH Smiths reading Attitude magazine this time) and he knows there’s a place inside that will feel incredible if Carl rubs against it. He can feel where it is, where he needs Carl to be, so he moves with him, angling his hips up until they find it, and he cries out at the shock of pleasure, the brand new feeling that he just wants more of. He clutches at Carl, his fingers digging in without him even realising it, it just feels too good, even better than he imagined, and he can’t control himself, greedily demanding more, as much as he can get. He tries to remember that this is nominally supposed to be for Carl, though Peter knows that was always a bit of an excuse - but anyway, Carl definitely seems to be enjoying himself just as much as Peter is, and it just stokes Peter’s fire even more to hear Carl moan as he fucks him, pushing in deeper and more desperately every time. Peter feels like he could almost come just from this, just from having Carl inside him like this, everything is so overwhelming, the intensity of sensation and emotion flooding through him. He reaches down between their bodies to take himself in his hand, groaning at the perfect completion of it, the last piece of it all falling into place. He knows now how to tell when Carl is getting close, and he is, and it excites him, that Carl is fucking him so enthusiastically, is going to come inside him. Peter strokes himself faster, feeling like he can’t contain himself, he’s full up to the very top, nothing he’s ever done, nothing he’s ever had done to him, has felt like this, so good and so special. 

"Oh, fuck, _Peter_ ," Carl pants, right next to his ear, and Peter's whole body shudders with the intensity of the heat it sends through him, head to toe. Carl thrusts more erratically into him, deeper and harder, and then Peter feels him coming, shaking uncontrollably against Peter's own trembling body.

Peter rubs himself desperately, so so close, wringing the last pulses of pleasure out of Carl, still inside him, and suddenly that's it, he's there, jerking under Carl's body as he spills between them, moaning Carl's name and pulling him into an irresistible, jubilant kiss. 

Peter lets his legs slip from around Carl's waist, but apart from that it's a while before either of them move even a centimetre. Peter doesn't want Carl to shift from where he's lying, a comforting weight across Peter's body, but eventually Carl extricates himself, and lies down next to him on the mattress. It takes Peter a few moments to coordinate himself enough to move - his body feels wobbly, like he's got no strength left after those exertions. It's a very nice feeling, and Peter can't help smiling as he eventually manages to turn onto his side to look at Carl, his heart warm and full. Carl's cheeks are flushed and his hair is tangled and his lips are so full and pretty that Peter can't wait to kiss them again. 

"I am not letting you get away with never doing that to me again," Peter murmurs, reaching out with a clumsy hand and letting it rest on Carl's chest.

Carl stares at the ceiling dazedly for a few seconds, but then he turns his head to look at Peter too, like he's also completely spent, and grins sleepily back at him.

"Don't get too used to it," he mumbles, even as he's shifting closer to Peter, getting comfortable cuddled up to him.

"I know, I know," says Peter dryly. "Once for the week, max, right?" 

"I'm glad you understand," Carl murmurs, his eyes closing and his head against Peter's on the pillow. 

Oh, Peter is definitely starting to understand now. It’s funny how Carl can be so adamant about his rules, but whenever he wants to shag Peter there's always a very convenient way to supplement them, for one night only (plus, always, double jeopardy). It's like the United States Constitution, Peter thinks, full of amendments.

But, whatever helps Carl sleep (or do other, non-sleeping things with Peter) at night, he supposes. If it gets Carl where Peter wants him to be, he's more than willing to humour him. 

Even when, a couple of weeks later, he tells Peter that it's alright if they fuck tonight, because it's the summer Solstice, and those traditional Pagan rituals are all about fertility and getting naked, right? Or a few weeks after that, when he announces that there's a total lunar eclipse - the first in three years! - so that definitely counts as an unusual enough occasion to justify breaking Carl's self-imposed rules. Or when August comes around, that the ninth is known as "hug day" in Japan, so it must be alright to have a little cuddle, in bed, with no clothes on, and if anything extra happens then that's included in the general concept. Sure, Peter can buy that - if it means Carl fucks him, twice as in accordance with double jeopardy rules, he'll believe anything Carl tells him.

One day Peter even comes across a stolen library copy of Old Moore's Almanac concealed under a pile of dirty clothes by Carl's side of the mattress, and Peter knows with instant clarity that Carl must have been consulting it to come up with some of the obscure and frankly quite nutty seasonal events that he’s been using to justify why it’s OK to shag Peter on certain dates, but not others. Peter isn’t sure whether to be more amused, frustrated or outraged that Carl feels the need to tie himself in such knots to be with Peter, but after some internal wrangling he decides not to confront him about it. After all, it’s probably better that Carl has all the justifications he feels he needs - not to mention, it might come in handy for Peter himself in future, if he wants to make some suggestions that Carl can't possibly argue with. If they're justifications from the exact same source that Carl himself has been using, how can he possibly refuse? Peter rather relishes the chance to play him at his own game.

So, one cosy Wednesday evening when Peter is feeling confident, daring and more than a little saucy, he sidles closer to Carl as they sit together on the sofa, and puts an arm round him, in a way that's not usual, but Carl is bound to interpret correctly.

Peter leans in closer, almost close enough to kiss, but he tilts his head so he can murmur in Carl's ear first, "You know… there's a meteor shower tonight. The only time to see the Perseids all year." Feeling certain Carl will catch his drift, Peter sits back a little, smiling a little smugly, very ready for that kiss now.

To his surprise, Carl doesn't fall into his arms in acquiescence. 

"That sounds good," says Carl instead. "I'd like to see that."

Peter's eyes widen in burgeoning panic. "I- I don't know if we'll be able to from here," he fumbles. "Too many buildings around."

"We should go up somewhere high then," enthuses Carl. "There's loads of places we can get to the top of."

"But - there's too much light pollution," tries Peter desperately. Carl looks way too excited about these fucking meteors now, he looks ready to put his jacket on and go outside, not take _off_ his clothes and get into bed, like Peter had hoped. 

"Worth a try though innit?" says Carl, getting up.

Peter is honestly not sure if Carl is suddenly just really into observing this astronomical phenomenon, or he's sussed what Peter is trying to do, and is playing him like a fiddle. But Peter knows he's lost, at least for now. Maybe if they go and stare at the sky for half an hour it might get Carl in the mood.

So he dutifully follows Carl out into the street, though he manages to persuade him that actually, he was wrong about the buildings and the light pollution and just lying on the little patch of grass on the corner of their road will do fine after all. They don't see a single bloody meteor, of course, and all Peter can think about is Carl's warm, beautiful body lying there right next to him, tantalising but woefully off limits in all but Peter's fantasies. There's nothing to see in the sky, so Peter just lets his imagination run away with him, giving free rein to all the naughty things he had in mind to do with Carl when he made this ill-fated suggestion. By the time Carl decides he's had enough of lying on the grass staring at the uncooperative sky, in Peter's fantasy he's let Carl turn him onto his stomach and fuck him, hard, in the middle of this romantic North London night, with no detail left unexplored. 

Peter doesn't care that he has to walk back to their flat with an extremely obvious erection, because for a start there's no one around to see him, except Carl, and it might even make him take pity on him once they get inside.

Peter gives it a hopeful go, anyway. As soon as they're back in their room he moves in to give Carl the kiss he's been wanting to for what feels like an age, but his heart plummets when Carl again resists.

"What's up with you?" Carl asks, looking genuinely confused.

"...The meteor shower," Peter tries to explain hesitantly. "I thought it might be a good enough reason. For a shag." That's all he can think of to say, because it's all he can think about at all right now. Carl must understand, or he's going to throttle him.

Carl gives him a look that goes beyond baffled and suggests that he's starting to doubt Peter's sanity. "That's ridiculous," he says, with no malice, but in the same way he might respond if Peter said he was going to suddenly straighten up and become a Buddhist monk. As if Peter has really said something absolutely ludicrous, and nothing at all like the completely sensible reasoning Carl comes up with on a weekly basis. He turns away from Peter dismissively, and starts getting ready for bed.

Peter feels like getting out the hidden Almanac and chucking it at Carl's head. "Carl!" he whines in exasperation, knowing he's going to be left nursing an insistent erection all night, lying in bed next to the mischievous and unrepentant young man who inspired it. "You can't blame me for trying. Honestly, it's like trying to get a shag off the bloody Zodiac Killer," he grumbles, pulling off his own clothes in annoyance.

As he gets into bed, Peter is positive he hears a very faint snigger from Carl's side. It really wouldn't surprise him. Knowing Carl, he's probably quite amused at the comparison.

It doesn't seem like Carl spends much time reflecting on Peter's attempt to join him at his own game, though, because the very next night he remarks, "I saw a black cat earlier. Just outside the house, walked across the pavement in front of me."

"Oh, cute," says Peter neutrally, though he knows exactly where this is going. He wonders if he dares play dumb like Carl did last night, but ultimately he knows how weak he is to Carl's charms. He can't bring himself to pass up any opportunity he gets to get into Carl's pants, no matter how much he might want to laugh at his justifications.

"Well, they're supposed to be good luck aren't they," says Carl, edging closer.

Peter has never been entirely clear about whether black cats are meant to be lucky or unlucky, but he doubts that matters to Carl. Nor to him, if this is Carl's latest ploy.

"So, you thought you'd get lucky too, did ya?" he says with a grin, adopting his worst Brooklyn accent.

Carl chuckles, moving more boldly into Peter's space and meeting his gaze with a familiar look that makes Peter's heart race, like it always does. He doesn't bother saying anything, just leans in and kisses a very willing Peter passionately on the mouth, and almost before Peter knows what’s happening, he’s flat on his back, naked, on the mattress, with his legs round Carl’s waist. Finally. 

The next day - after they've double jeopardied, of course - Peter casually leaves the house, walks down to Sainsbury's, and buys several assorted tins of cat food, and a box of cat biscuits, for variety. As soon as he gets home, he carefully and surreptitiously leaves the contents of one can, and a handful of kibble, to the side of the front door of their building, and waits. 

Sure enough, it works like a charm. Not only does Peter get to pet a friendly and grateful local feline when she's quickly attracted by his offering, but she lingers outside long enough that Carl inevitably must see her again too. Peter knows his plan has worked when Carl strides into their room with an unmistakable glint in his eye, and he starts gleefully shedding his clothes before Carl has even finished saying, "I saw that cat again just now." 

But, alas, Peter's luck can't last. It's only the next evening when Carl catches him red-handed, tipping Whiskas onto the ground furtively under cover of darkness.

Carl actually looks extremely crestfallen. "That's not how it works!" he exclaims, exasperated. "You can't set it up like that, it has to occur naturally. Now we can't use that one anymore," he sighs, looking genuinely glum.

Peter feels pretty disappointed himself, not to mention frustrated - he's lost an opportunity to get off with Carl, at least until Carl can come up with his next exemption to the rules. He also wishes he'd bought tuna instead of brand name cat food, because at least he could eat the leftover cans himself now. But it occurs to him that Carl actually does seem pretty sad to be deprived of a chance to have sex with Peter, even if it is completely needlessly and only of his own making. He feels oddly encouraged by this, his hopes bolstered that maybe one day - maybe even soon - Carl will exhaust all his funny rules and excuses, and just accept that he enjoys shagging Peter just as much as Peter does, and he can stop kidding himself that it's just some side thing he can drop any time he wants. 

The lengths Carl will increasingly go to to wring some kind of justification for being intimately naked with Peter just convinces him further that Carl's feelings about it are just as strong as Peter's, no matter how much he might try to fool himself. Though he learns the hard way that if he actually does let his thinly disguised amusement at Carl's increasingly tenuous excuses to have sex with him show, it doesn't end well for either of them. One night, Carl slips into bed behind him and cuddles up, murmuring something about the migration patterns of the Eurasian swift, and it's such a ridiculous excuse that Peter just can't stop himself laughing.

"Come on Carl, that's just getting silly," he says, hoping maybe it will snap Carl out of it and they can just have a laugh about it together, but it's too late. Carl immediately pulls away from him and turns over huffily onto his other side, facing away from Peter.

"Well if you're going to be like that about it," Carl mutters. "Fine. We won't do it then."

"Aww, no, Carl, now you're being even sillier," Peter protests. He turns over so he can snuggle up to Carl placatingly, putting a tentative hand on his side. "There's no need to cut off your nose to spite your face. Look, I'll make it up to you," he says as sweetly as he can, trying to move under the duvet, but Carl just wraps it tighter around himself and denies Peter access, keeping his eyes firmly closed until Peter gives up with a sigh, and eventually goes to sleep. 

Carl sulks for two whole days afterwards, though after that, according to Carl (and, presumably, his almanac) Mercury turns retrograde again, which gives him the green light to bend Peter over the sofa and fuck him with the energy of someone who's spent two days regretting his decision not to do exactly that when he wanted to two days ago. But Carl obviously has too much pride that still gets in his way, he can't let it go and just have sex with Peter without there being some celestial excuse for it, because then they might as well be in a _relationship_ or something. And red-blooded playboy bachelor Carl wouldn't want to be tied down to one of those, would he?

As if they're not in a relationship already, thinks Peter with wry amusement. As if they haven't been since even before they were living together. Peter knows it, and he honestly suspects Carl knows it too, he just wants to have all his cakes and eat them too. 

Maybe he thinks he’s been having too much Peter-cake lately though, because for the first time in a while, Carl suggests they go out, not just to the pub for as many drinks as they can swipe, but to an actual club, which implies that he wants to pull someone who isn’t Peter, for a change. There mustn’t be anything in the Almanac for tonight, Peter thinks dryly, and no notable animal behaviours or exotic far-flung festivals to make it acceptable in Carl’s mind for him to touch Peter’s dick. Peter doesn’t really care about going clubbing at the best of times, he’s more in his element in smaller, less noisy spaces where he can rely on his wit to charm people. But he reasons that if he goes along, at least he can keep an eye on Carl. And he’ll have no shame at all about throwing a spanner in the works if Carl starts getting too involved with some unsuitable bird. Or anyone at all, if he feels like it. 

Carl, of course, can immediately attract the notice of anyone he wants without having to say a word, based solely on his considerable physical attributes. But he must be feeling benevolent, because at least tonight he brings Peter along when he finds a girl to chat up. Maybe he thinks Peter needs something to distract and occupy him, rather than constantly mooning over Carl - and, moreover, tempting him to break his own oh so strict rules. In any case, Carl encourages him to talk to his chosen girl's friend, while Carl himself gets to work.

The friend is alright at least, Peter thinks. Her name is Mel and she has purple hair and a number of tattoos. It turns out she’s from Liverpool, so he spends some minutes reminiscing pleasantly about places he’s fond of up there. They go out to the smoking area so they can make themselves heard, and they share her cigarettes and talk about music. Peter tries - not very successfully - to not think about Carl, but that becomes even more difficult when he and his girl come outside as well. As they pass by, Carl meets his eyes in a loaded gaze, and Peter’s stomach turns over uneasily. He tries not to look, but it’s with a grim inevitability that, after a few minutes of obvious flirting and giggling and getting closer and closer, Carl and his bird start snogging. Peter forces himself to look away then, because he knows his distaste must show on his face, and it’s not really very polite to the girl he’s with.

He looks back at her with a bit of a sheepish smile, which she returns, obviously feeling equally awkward. 

“What do you reckon?” he asks. “You wanna?”

She shrugs. “Might as well. As long as you do.”

“Yeah why not,” he offers, and they chuckle together, both knowing they’re obviously just doing this for show, but isn’t that as good a reason as any? In any case, Peter thinks as his mouth meets Mel’s, he’s pretty sure that’s what Carl is doing. There’s a bitter, cynical little knot in his stomach when he thinks about Carl kissing some random girl just a few metres away, obviously to make some obscure point that fits with his stupid made up rules. He’s clearly trying to prove he isn’t too attached to Peter, that whatever they have together isn’t that serious and he still wants to get off with other people - girls - sometimes, because he can, and Peter is just for the times when he hasn’t got the opportunity. Or whatever. Peter is jealous, of course he is, but at least he can channel that right now by kissing his own girl. Try and at least give Carl a taste of his own medicine, or at least not give Carl a reason to pity him or laugh at him later. 

Peter tries to focus on what he’s doing, rather than letting his thoughts keep drifting back to Carl, but it all feels a bit pointless - he doesn’t especially want to shag this girl, and he knows she’s not that bothered about shagging him either, but he supposes he will if he has to. Like if Carl decides he wants to shag his girl, especially if he wants to do it at their place. Peter does not want to be around for that. He’s really only putting in a workmanlike performance here, but stopping now would feel even more awkward, so he just keeps at it, starting to hope for a fire alarm, or even a bolshy ex-boyfriend to show up and want a fight, just to give him an excuse to get out of this situation. 

But in the end, he doesn’t need one. After some time - he doesn’t know exactly how long, but long enough - he feels a firm hand land on his shoulder. His eyes fly open, thinking maybe the pugnacious ex he’d imagined has turned up after all - but, to his surprise, it’s just Carl.

“I think I’ve had enough of this. You coming?” he asks, so casually that Peter gapes at his sheer front, as if he isn’t interrupting Peter with his lips attached to a girl’s. Not that Peter - or the girl - really cares about being interrupted, but still, Carl’s cheek is astounding. Peter thinks it’s almost worthy of himself, and he’s secretly both impressed and incredibly relieved. Because if Carl is ready to leave, he must be bored of kissing some random girl, and he’d rather go home, with Peter. And Peter doesn’t really care that he should be outraged at Carl’s audacity, because he can only really be delighted that Carl has made his choice, and he’s chosen Peter. 

“Yeah, sure,” he says easily. He gives Mel a cheeky wink, and she smirks at him. “See ya later, darlin’,” he says breezily, like he’s a real jack the lad, loving and leaving, but he knows he’s simply at Carl’s beck and call, and she probably sees it too.

He doesn’t care though, because Carl is _his_ again, and that’s all he’s wanted all night. And to be honest, he's starting to suspect that maybe Carl realised that's what he wanted, too.

"You didn't fancy her that much then?" he asks Carl, as they wait for the night bus home. 

"Nah," says Carl with a non-committal shrug. 

"Same," says Peter with a laugh, and Carl looks at him approvingly.

"But it's nice to know we could've, if we'd wanted to," Carl says, in a tone Peter recognises very well. He's gearing up towards some delusional reasoning, Peter thinks, and he can't wait to hear what it is this time.

"Oh yeah, still got it," he agrees encouragingly. 

"Exactly," says Carl emphatically, and to Peter’s astonishment, he leans in and kisses him, full on the mouth.

It doesn’t last long, but it’s certainly enough for Peter to get a very good idea of Carl’s intentions. Carl hardly ever kisses him outside of their flat, and never like that, with such barely concealed hunger that it makes Peter dizzy. Carl is giving him a clear message, that he’s taking Peter home, and he’s going to have his way with him, and Peter shivers with excitement knowing that he’s going to love every second of it. Carl smirks at him, and Peter squirms, knowing that Carl knows the effect he has on him. He can tell Carl isn’t playing around - he’s given Peter notice, and he fully intends to follow through. _’Just you wait,’_ Carl is saying to him, with his raised eyebrows and knowing tilt of his head, and Peter is in no doubt at all what to expect.

Peter is so preoccupied with his imaginings that he doesn’t say a word for the whole journey home. Neither does Carl, though he keeps giving him such smouldering, suggestive looks that Peter’s face gets warm and his toes curl and he can feel himself starting to get hard, even just sitting next to Carl here at the back of the bus. He wishes he could just turn and snog him, like he would with a girl, use this growing tension between them, start getting ready for what’s going to happen when they get home - but he has to admit there’s something exciting about waiting too, letting the anticipation build, fizzing and simmering inside. 

The night bus always feels like it takes forever, but it’s never felt quite as long as it does tonight. Peter can barely sit still, he fidgets around and fiddles with his hair, and every time he dares look at Carl his heart skips and his stomach flips and he feels another inappropriate rush of blood to the groin. He shifts, crossing his legs in a self-consciously casual way, but he knows Carl must notice, and he can see that Carl is loving it. And, to be honest, Peter is too. He knows he’ll get his soon enough, and the thought of it is a thrill in itself.

Eventually, they get off the bus and Peter is ready to practically run home. He really hopes Carl doesn’t need to stop and observe the night sky to check if the Pole Star really is visible tonight or whatever, because if there’s any delay to proceedings now, Peter might just have to throw a tantrum. Carl’s been teasing him just by looking at him, just by _existing_ next to him, and Peter is so keyed up he’s ready to burst. But to his relief, as soon as they get into their room, without even switching the lights on, Carl is kissing him so hard his knees go weak and his head swims and he can’t help making a grateful little whimper against Carl’s lips. 

Carl scrabbles at Peter’s fly with eager fingers, unfastening his jeans and tugging them down while Peter struggles to get out of his t-shirt fast enough. He stumbles out of his jeans as Carl pulls his own shirt over his head, and he stops to watch, transfixed, when Carl hurries to take off his own trousers and underwear. Carl is already hard, and Peter still hasn’t stopped getting a shock of arousal so intense it shakes him, every time he sees Carl’s cock, hard and gorgeous and all for him. His mouth waters at the sight of it, he trembles with the weight of his desire to touch, to kiss, to lick, to have Carl against him and on top of him and in him, he’s fucking burning hot inside he’s so turned on. 

Carl is too, Peter can see it in his eyes, the way they’re fixed on Peter in a way he knows well, so intense and getting closer as Carl approaches again, kisses him again, just as fierce, and when he pushes Peter down onto the mattress, forceful and commanding, Peter has never felt this desperately aroused before he’s even been touched. Carl gets down on top of him and starts kissing his mouth again, presses and rubs against him like he can’t get enough, can’t get it quickly enough, and Peter is completely weak to it, he melts under Carl like butter. It's Carl this time who fumbles for their well-used tube of KY, it's Carl who pulls off Peter's underwear impatiently and wraps a hand round his cock confidently, but it's Peter who has to gasp at him to stop, or it'll all be over before they get to the good bit. He's never known Carl like this before, so focussed, so open and unabashed in his desire for Peter, and it's so exciting that he can barely contain himself, he's so hard Carl must feel him throbbing in his hand. 

Carl grins down at him, taking his hand off Peter's cock and squeezing some lube onto it before taking hold of his own, giving it a few urgent strokes while Peter watches, salivating. He loves to see Carl touch himself, but he just can't wait to get him inside, just wants to _fuck_ , he knows from this crazy, unprecedented heat between them that it's going to be the best ever. 

"Are you ready?" whispers Carl as he positions himself, and Peter shivers, he's so ready he can hardly speak.

" _Yes_ ," he manages, and then all he can do is moan as Carl pushes inside him, all the way, barely pausing before he pulls back and then thrusts in again, fast and deep and so so good that Peter can't keep quiet.

This is his favourite way to do it, on his back with Carl between his thighs, so he can see him and hold onto him, pull him closer against him and deeper into him, rock up against him so he can get that perfect angle. He doesn't remember Carl ever fucking him quite as enthusiastically as he is tonight, and Peter never wants it to end, he just feels so completely and thoroughly _taken_. He feels so wanted, so claimed by Carl, like Carl just couldn't wait to have him, like he was so overwhelmed with desire for him that there was no hesitating, no thought for matters of conscience or what rules might apply or how he could justify this to them both. He just wanted Peter, plain and simple, and now he's having him. 

Peter feels delirious with pleasure, he's so filled up with it that he can barely keep up with Carl's pace. He can feel himself getting close, and he can tell Carl is too, can feel him start to move even more urgently, and erratically, and start to tremble against him, so he slides his hand between them to stroke himself, rough and quick just like Carl is moving inside him. It's only a minute or two more before Carl stiffens and jerks in his arms, thrusting deep into him as he comes with a groan that Peter can tell is as satisfied as he's ever been, and that's it for Peter, he comes too, hot and sticky over his stomach and Carl's, and just as happy. 

Peter doesn't want Carl to move. He just wants to lie here with Carl's weight on top of him, so he wraps his arms around him and holds onto him tight. Carl seems content to be held, and Peter is just so satisfied and filled with affection, he never wants this moment to end. But eventually Carl stirs and shifts, and Peter has to reluctantly relinquish him as he rolls off to lie by his side. Carl lights them a cigarette each, and Peter lights a candle, because he wants to be able to see Carl as he gazes at him, fond and loving in the afterglow of that passionate session. 

"That was amazing," Peter purrs. He nuzzles Carl's hair indulgently. "Where did that come from?" he teases, though he can hear the genuine wonder in his own voice. If Carl has finally unleashed a hidden side to himself, Peter hopes fervidly that he can see it again soon.

Carl shrugs. "Well, y'know, after I got off with that girl, and you got off with that girl…" He gestures expansively between himself and Peter, leaving Peter with lots of room for interpretation.

Peter isn't stupid, and he knows Carl and his ways very, very well by now. He has a very good idea of what Carl is getting at, especially when he thinks back to their brief conversation at the bus stop earlier. He can't help but laugh - after all, he's not got anything to lose, now he's already been well and truly shagged senseless. 

"So… Because we both kissed girls, it was alright for us to be together after that?" he deduces, with incredulity and amusement both obvious in his voice. 

"Yes!" Carl says gratefully, as if Peter has done all the hard sums and thrown Carl the answer just in time for the big exam. "We still go with girls when we want to. But we just didn't want to with those ones."

"No girl has ever fucked me like _that_ ," Peter points out, with feeling, before he can stop the words coming out, because it's absolutely the truth and it's all he can think right now. 

Despite what Carl just said, Peter can see he’s smirking, the smug bastard, and he knows he's proud of what he's wrought on Peter's body and senses. Of course Carl would still have an excuse, even the flimsiest and most threadbare one, for why he was suddenly overcome with an uncontrollable urge to fuck Peter's brains out, but Peter thinks he has a much better one. More like, Carl was happy to feel like a lad, kissing some bird in a club, but as soon as he realised Peter was doing the same - he wasn't going to stand for that! What else would explain the sudden interruption, the instant abandonment of his own pull? 

He kisses Carl's temple lovingly. Under the circumstances, he's more than ready to push his luck. "It's alright Carlos," he whispers. "You can just say you got jealous when you saw me kissing someone who wasn't you."

"I did not!" Carl exclaims indignantly, though he doesn't move away from Peter even a centimetre. 

Peter just snickers to himself. Carl can protest all he likes, but Peter thinks this is the closest he’s got yet to just being with Peter for his own sake, no excuses, no codicils, no permission slip filled out in triplicate - just doing it because he wanted to, and making up some reasoning later. 

And it’s only taken… a few months. Peter is sure that with a little bit more work, Carl will forget about his need to justify every time he wants to shag Peter, and just get on with it. Soon, Peter thinks, it’ll happen. 

Though even if and when it does, Peter will still keep expecting double jeopardy. Lying here snuggled up to Carl right now, warm and sated and blissfully happy, he’s looking forward to it already.

**Author's Note:**

> Originally this fic was going to take place in episodes over a number of years, with a coda set here and now where Peter gets a text that says something like 'Did you hear that there's a supermoon tonight? My Eurostar gets into Paris at 7. See you later' and it's like, so much for Carl changing his mind any time soon, lol. But you'll have to just imagine that. ;)


End file.
